A terrible pickup line, really
by Tamagirl242
Summary: Sherlock doesn't understand his feelings for Molly Hooper...until a handsome stranger (who just happens to need to work on "top secret" stuff with him and Mycroft) shows up...(I love a Jealous Sherlock, Sherlolly) (Rated T for possible later content)
1. Chapter 1

**I'M SO SORRY BUT FOR MY STORY (because I couldn't think of a better candidate, truly) I HAD TO CHANGE ONE OF THE CHARACTERS A BIT. Ok, a lot. PLEASE DON'T KILL ME. **

* * *

"Molly, I'll need you to pull out Edwin McDaver's body. I need to test for cyanide poisoning."

"Um…" Molly walked quickly to the pristine counter and checked her charts, her eyes glancing at the man standing next to Sherlock before turning towards him.

"Here you go." She wheeled the body out.

"And coffee. Black, two sugars," he added.

"Uh…yes," she answered him, but her eyes never left the man who had not yet introduced himself. He wore a long coat, a bit similar to Sherlock's, perhaps made of leather. But what really caught her attention was his smile, a killer grin directed right at her. His eyes reminded her of clear skies, a shadowless world that still somehow held slight greys, captivating her.

She blushed and hurried out.

When she came back with the coffee, she had just set it onto the table next to Sherlock (already absorbed in whatever findings he could elicit from the sample under the petri dish) when the man finally stuck out a hand towards her.

"Captain Jack Harkness."

"H-hi," Molly stuttered slightly and smiled at him through her eyelashes, her cheeks gradually turning pink. No one had ever looked at her like she was the most important woman in the world. And despite her…pleasure…in being able to see Sherlock, she wasn't immune to his charm.

"I'm Molly. I'm Sherlock's pathologist."

She didn't realize she had given him claim over her. But unseen, and without glancing up, Sherlock's lips turned up slightly at the corners.

But Jack noticed too. Interesting. He glanced at Sherlock, then turned back to Molly.

"So, Molly Hooper, St. Bart's pathologist," he corrected her, "I'm involved in some pretty serious business," he nodded his head toward Sherlock," but," his voice dropped, and he leaned closer to her ear," I would love to take you out to dinner tonight if you have time."

Molly's eyes subconsciously wandered toward Sherlock for a moment before returning to Jack's face.

"That sounds great," she replied.

Sherlock's jaw clenched, but he didn't move.

"Great," Jack pecked her on the cheek and headed out the door, "I'll pick you up at 7 tonight."

Just as Molly was about to ask him how, his head peeked back through the doorway.

"Don't worry. I'll ask Mycroft for your address," he clicked his tongue and disappeared again.

Molly smiled. He was so full of energy and (she didn't have a problem admitting this to herself) _so_ attractive.

"Don't go with him," a voice spoke up suddenly right behind her, and she jumped.

"Sherlock, you scared me," she shoved him back gently. Ever since the Fall, they had become a bit closer. Perhaps good friends, Molly Hooper thought, and that was probably all she was ever going to get, so she might as well be happy about it. It wouldn't do any good to hold a grudge; he wouldn't understand anyway.

"He's a scum who plays with people's hearts. I'm sure you think I wouldn't understand but I do. He'll –"

"Please, Sherlock," Molly interrupted him, "just…just don't ruin all my dates," she sighed.

"She didn't see his fists clench. But she felt the raw strength in his hands as he gripped her wrists tightly, a slight pulse drumming through the thin wool of her cardigan.

"His own name is his pickup line, for god's sakes!" he took a step closer to molly, his face inches from hers. "Just listen to the intonation of his voice. So full of confidence," he spat, "why? Because he knows that a little girl who wants attention would definitely fall for his charms. He probably has women like Irene Adler for breakfast, he's so practiced."

Molly just stared at him, hoping the stinging sensation at the back of her eyelids would abate. He always said such hurtful things. _Always_.

"No, Sherlock," she looked to the floor, refusing to meet his eyes, "_You _date women like Irene Adler. She's always been The Woman for you." She gently pried his hands off her, walking out of the morgue even though she still had an hour left in her shift, her back stiff. She wasn't planning on returning today.

An hour later, Sherlock still stood in the same spot, his eyes unblinking, staring the hands she had pried away from her. He was just trying to warn her, he told himself. Any attempt of hers at dating would surely to be threat to national security. Yes. Mycroft would have to agree.

There was certainly no way he would give Captain _Jack Harkness _her address.


	2. Chapter 2

**So sorry for the late update! I'm actually taking summer classes so the updates might be few and far between, but I promise whenever I get the chance I will work on this story! And thanks to crooney83, a love so strong and true, and patemalah21 for reviewing (especially crooney83 who I know has reviewed a bunch of my stuff)! Your reviews keep me writing! :) Also thanks to everyone who followed and faved!**

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"So…?" Mary waggled her eyebrows at Molly, her eyes drifting toward the man in the trench coat sitting across from them at the bar. He raised his glass towards them, his grin blinding. "You have to go back to him, you know. You can't just ditch him there."

"I know." Molly glanced down at her hands. She had called her best friend just moments before, her voice almost strangled at the thought that she was going on a date with a hot guy who was actually interested in her. And hopefully not just using her. And she wouldn't think of Sherlock.

Molly barely looked up at the man for a second before her cheeks turned pink, her fingers drawing patterns in the condensation of her Long Island Iced Tea. She shook her head, barely.

"I knew it!" Mary crowed, chortling at her intuition, "He's been staring at you ever since you walked into the bar!"

"Well, maybe it's because you forced me to come," Molly shot back. "And don't think I won't tell John you're still coming to these places," she threatened.

"Ms. Molly Hooper, are you threatening me?"

"I might be," she smiled.

"I think," she glanced at the man again, "your newfound confidence might have come from a certain source sitting riiiiight over…" Molly squeezed her arm before she could finish.

"Don't be ridiculous." She blushed.

"Well, go on then. Chances like this don't come along often, you know. You know John and I met at the morgue, not in a romantic place like a _bar_."

Half pushed off by a certain friend, Molly slid off her bar stool and slowly shuffled over to the man in the trench coat, still nursing her Long Island Iced Tea in front of her.

"Hey," she glanced at Mary before murmuring to the man.

"Hey, you," Jack grinned back playfully, rubbing her hair playfully and then patting the empty stool beside him.

She took a step forward, but then her mind suddenly flashed back 2 years, to the time when Sherlock had toasted their friendship (so uncharacteristically) with a glint in his eye she didn't recognize. She hadn't understood it then, and she didn't understand it now, but for some weird reason, it made her hesitate.

"Something wrong?" Jack didn't miss the sudden tautness around her eyes, the slight welling of tears that she herself might not even have noticed.

She shook her head and smiled. "Nothing." She was going to go on a date with him, and she was going to enjoy it. Sherlock be damned.

* * *

Mary stared at Molly closely from across the bar, her eyes flicking over her friend's face as she laughed at the man's jokes and occasionally lightly touched his arm, only to shrink back again immediately. Molly, _poor, innocent Molly_, might have missed the signs. Might have missed the way Jack leaned in, how his eyes never left her, even when she wasn't looking at him, and how his nostrils flared when she leaned forward a little (she was getting a little tipsy – she shouldn't have had that second iced tea or the martini) and his eyes flicked downward just a bit lower than they should have.

Yes. Molly might have missed the signs of attraction. But Mary sure didn't. She didn't care about Jack's background or who he was; she had a good feeling about him. She grinned to herself (quite maniacally, if she thought so herself). Sherlock and Jack were certainly fire and ice. And she didn't hold a grudge against Sherlock, honest she didn't (she wouldn't swear upon it though), but she knew for a fact that Molly loved the heat of the hearth much more than the biting chill of winter snow, no matter how beautiful.

And she knew her time had come to make Sherlock pay for John's nightmares, for the way he looked at Sherlock sometimes just a little too closely, almost as if he had to verify his existence.

She took out her phone, aiming it at the laughing couple, and snapped a picture. Then, finding the number she never thought she would use (but if she were honest, she had been waiting for this day for a long time), she attached the photo and hit send.

He was in for a nasty surprise. And although she knew he harbored some feelings for Molly Hooper, he almost certainly wouldn't act on them (yes, she had read John's blog and knew how "sentiment is a chemical defect found in the losing side"), so he had no chance of winning her heart.

And she would be there to watch him burn when Molly wore white, not for him, but for someone else.

The ultimate revenge.

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**Yes, I know, most of it's in Mary's POV, but I felt like it worked out better this way because I could better narrate and set up the story. I promise there will be more actual plot later! **


	3. Chapter 3

I'M SO SORRY FOR BEING AWAY SO LONG BUT I HAVE SUMMER CLASSES SO I CAN'T UPDATE THAT OFTEN (Computer science is killing me). I know this isn't the longest chapter, but hopefully I'll have the next one up soon? And thanks so much to crooney83 and sammykatz for messaging XD I know, ugh, I'll definitely have the next one up sooner than this one was

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The morgue doors suddenly slammed open, startling Molly. The scalpel in her hand clinked to the floor. She looked up.

"My god, Sherlock! Don't bang the doors like that!"

He ignored her, his face twisted into a sort of grimace. Pulling his phone from his pocket as he strode toward with rapid, jerky steps, he stuck it in front of her face.

"What is this?" His voice was low. And very, very tight.

She squinted at the picture for a moment before smiling. Her heart rate dropped.

"You scared me. That was me and Jack at the bar last night. I thought you had some morbid photo to show me," she smiled sweetly and bent to pick up the scalpel.

He grabbed her arm, ignoring the little "ouch" she peeped, forcing her to face him.

He stuck the photo in her face again.

"Why were you out with him? I thought I told you to stay away from him." He enunciated every syllable, grinding them out with difficulty. She was just so _thick_ sometimes.

Her face became taut, and she turned away from him.

"He's perfectly nice. I'm sure you have no reason to worry. Besides," she raised her voice when he started to interrupt, "you've seen him before, and you weren't able to analyze anything bad off of him."

Her eyes turned toward him, searching his eyes. His face was void of any emotion.

"Time travelers are very different. They've got all sorts of details normal people wouldn't have. He could have left…"

"I'm going out with him again tonight, Sherlock. And that's final." She took on that stubborn tone he hated so much because it meant she wasn't listening to him.

"You have no idea if he'll even stay here. It won't just be worlds apart, Molly. It'll be universes, time periods apart."

"Unattainable, you mean? Like you?"

He stared at her for a moment, for the first time in his life shocked into silence.

She started picking up her tools, cleaning them in the sink, rolling the body back to its proper place.

"He said he wanted to settle down, Sherlock," she finally continued. "He said he wants a family, a kid, a home." She took a deep breath to face him. "He could give me everything you can't, Sherlock. Couldn't you just stop being selfish for once?"

* * *

Sherlock paced back and forth in his flat, his movements jerky. Every once in a while, a curse word would fly from his mouth.

John stared at him, lips pursed. He was used to Sherlock's brooding moods now. But this seemed different. He flipped another page in his book, waiting for the tornado to unleash itself.

"She said I'm _selfish_, John. _Selfish._ I am ANYTHING but selfish. How could she say that?" he hissed as his eyes narrowed into slits.

"Well…" John began, starting to close his book.

"Don't."

John raised his hands in surrender.

"She's going out with him again tonight. Can you imagine? Them together at some noisy bar again. He's no taste at all, just looking at the lights at that bar would give people epilepsy. And the furniture, _god. _The eighties want their furniture back!" he yelled out the window.

John simply stared at him. This was not the Sherlock he knew.

"Molly's just your pathologist, Sherlock," he finally butted in. "You can't control every aspect of her life."

"I can bloody well try," he stopped pacing and glared at John, his eyebrows knit together.

"Listen to yourself!" John finally shouted.

Sherlock looked taken aback, his hands still in the air. He dropped them and fell into his armchair.

"Of course," he finally conceded, nodding his head, almost as if he were trying to convince himself. He steepled his hands under his chin, closing his eyes. Retreating into his mind palace.

John stared at him a moment before hesitantly raising his book again. He glanced at the opened page, back at Sherlock, then back at the page. Sure he wasn't going to say anything more, he began to read.

And didn't get more than five pages in before Sherlock shot out of his chair again, grabbing his Belstaff coat.

John took a deep breath.

"What are you doing?" he stared at the man currently slipping on his shoes.

"You even said it," Sherlock replied, flipping the collar of his coat up. "She's my pathologist. I'm just protecting my property."

He swept out the door in the next second, leaving John speechless.

That bloody, ignorant sod.


End file.
